


a mirror, a window

by iron_spider



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), ffh speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider
Summary: (Avengers Endgame spoilers. Far From Home speculation)“Beck!” he yells. “Mysterio! Stop it, stop all of it, I’m not—” He listens to the voice in his head, hoping it’s right. “I’m not falling for it, I’m not, you’re—all you are is a liar.”He tries to look for him, look around for his silhouette amongst the fire and the smoke, but then something starts to form in front of him. For a moment, it looks like a door, but then it shifts, morphs, and then it—then it looks like a mirror. Vaguely rectangular, hardly tangible, still cloaked by the smoke that’s been engulfing everything else. All the lies. But Peter can see himself, see the carnage all around him. He sees his split lip, his black eye, the rips and tears in his new suit.Then Tony appears beside him in the mirror.Tony. Tony Stark. Tony Stark, who is….who’s gone. For six months now.Right there, in front of him.





	a mirror, a window

Peter needs to learn to protect his heart. To close the doors, throw away the key, cover it in bubble wrap or something, because he can’t take it. He can’t take it—one more crack and all his blood will flood out. One more crack and he’s dead. 

Beck’s betrayal tastes like decay.

Peter let him in, let him know, shared his pain and wants and fears and now—now, Beck is using it all against him. Now, he’s someone else—no, no he’s not. This is who he’s been all along. Mysterio. Peter fell for it, fell for his lies, and his heart aches for the promise of a friendship that was never possible in the first place. Beck never wanted to be his friend, he never wanted to fight alongside him. He’s insane, he has his own motives, and Peter—Peter was just collateral damage. No, Peter was there to use. He knew Peter was soft. Susceptible. Vulnerable.

He’s been vulnerable from the moment Tony sat down and never moved again.

Peter keeps stumbling, fire all around him, the carnival collapsing with groaning metal sounds, like a ship wailing as it sinks into the ocean. Beck shouldn’t be able to do this, but he’s built on lies, lives in them, weaves the world around them. He has Peter in a vice grip. Too many words, a little incantation, and Peter is laid bare. Flayed raw. 

He doesn’t know what happened, he isn’t sure, he can’t really remember. He can’t think straight. He doesn’t know what’s real. What screams are real, what pain is real, and he feels like he’s dropping out of his own body. He’s losing.

“Help me, Peter!” MJ’s voice yells, stripped with agony. “Please, please.”

Peter spins on the spot, looking around. Panic flashes in his eyes. “MJ?” he calls. “MJ?”

“ _She needs you, Peter,_ ” Beck’s voice says, from too far, too close, too everywhere. How the hell is he doing this? Why does Peter feel like he’s been _poisoned?_

“Peter!” MJ calls.

And then he sees her, directly in front of him, pinned underneath what’s left of the tilt-a-whirl. Peter has to be better if he wants to be good enough for her, he can’t be taken in, he can’t let just anyone know how he really feels. He can’t put her in danger. He rushes over, nearly tripping over his own feet. 

His brain tries to compute. She wasn’t here, she wasn’t—no, this isn’t right, she was….she was gone, he got her away—

“Oh God, Peter, get me outta here,” MJ says, reaching for him. “ _God_ , Peter, please, it hurts—” 

“MJ!” he yells. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m—”

She screams in anguish when the tilt-a-whirl falls, crushing her. He hears the crack of bone.

“No!” Peter yells, his voice raw in his throat. “No, no—”

Then there’s too much smoke, and he can’t see her at all. 

“MJ?” Peter asks, turning around, hands outstretched. “MJ? MJ, please, please answer me—”

“ _It’s your fault, Peter,_ ” Beck’s voice says. “ _You’re cursed. They love you, they die. All of them. All of them._ ”

He hears a wave of screams, too many, and the Ferris Wheel above him is suddenly filled with his classmates—and it’s on fire, it’s on fire, they’re burning, they’re burning to death—

He feels sick, can smell the burning hair, skin, can hear their agony—

“Hold on!” he yells, and he knows he can’t save them all, he knows he can’t, but he’s gotta try—they’re relying on him, he’s supposed to be the superhero, he’s supposed to find danger and snuff it out, but it follows him instead, it nips at his heels and knocks him to the ground—

—he knows, he knows they’re not there, something inside his head is kicking at him, nagging at him, no, Peter, no, look for him, look for him, he’s got you, he’s twisted, this is all fake, all of it, he tricked you—

He shoots a web, launches himself into the air, but then the Ferris Wheel turns into smoke, and there’s nothing for the web to latch onto. Peter drops, hits the ground hard. A few more broken ribs. A few more bruises.

“ _People die,_ ” Beck’s voice says. “ _People die because of you._ ”

“I trusted you!” Peter yells, tearing up, and God, he doesn’t want to be crying right now. He feels weak, physically, down to his bones, and emotionally too. Broken. “I—I trusted you.”

A voice in his head says _you shouldn’t have._

Peter presses his hand to the cobblestone. He can hardly see, only the blur of fire amongst smoke, but then he catches sight of a figure on the ground. His heart lurches and he crawls closer, his eyes going static for a moment, sickly green, his whole world sharp around the edges.

Ned.

Peter rushes to him, trembling, his legs aching as his knees hit the ground.

“Ned,” Peter breathes. He yanks off his mask, casts it aside. “Ned. Ned. Look at me. Wake up.”

No, no. This can’t be happening. Ned was with MJ, with MJ and Betty, they got out before the fire. He’s not here, he’s not, he can’t be. It doesn’t work that way.

But he’s dead in front of him. Eyes unseeing, staring straight ahead.

“God, no,” Peter gasps, clutching at him. No, no, he can't lose him. He can’t lose him. He can’t lose someone else he loves. But Ned is still, and his chest isn’t rising.

A green blast comes in and Peter doesn’t have enough time to react, and it knocks him backwards. He hits the wall hard, his head slamming back against it, and then he hears a loud, high pitched sound in his ears. An alarm. _Wake up. Wake up._

“ _What about her?_ ” Beck’s voice asks. “ _What about the only parent you have left?_ ”

“Peter, help me!” May screams, suddenly, full of horror. “Help!”

Peter’s heart sinks into his stomach, and he looks up. He sees her, dangling off the edge of the building, and she isn’t holding on tight enough, she’s gonna fall, she’s gonna fall, it’s too high, it’s way too high, and he doesn’t know if he should climb up there or try to catch her—he’s shaking too much, he isn’t good enough, he isn’t strong enough—

—she’s not here, she’s at home, she’s at home, she’s in New York—

“May!” he yells. “May, May, I’m coming! I’m coming! Hold on!” 

He starts crawling up the wall, fast as he can, and she’s gonna fall, she’s not gonna make it, she’s kicking and struggling and screaming and he’s gonna lose her, he’s gonna be all alone—

Another green blast hits him, and he loses his grip, tumbling back down to the ground. He hits his head again and he sees stars, but he immediately glances up to where he last saw her.

“May,” he breathes.

But there’s only smoke.

He looks around, breathing hard. He needs his mask, he needs Karen to scan the area, but he doesn’t know what the hell he did with it. His vision goes static again, like breaking news, but then smoke. More smoke. He feels like he hears whispering all around him, and he’s gotta be better than this—Beck can’t have them, he can’t have any of them. Peter won’t let him.

He thinks he hears thunder in the distance, an oncoming storm, and he presses his hands to the ground again, pushing himself back to his feet.

“Beck!” he yells. “Mysterio! Stop it, stop all of it, I’m not—” He listens to the voice in his head, hoping it’s right. “I’m not falling for it, I’m not, you’re—all you are is a liar.”

He tries to look for him, look around for his silhouette amongst the fire and the smoke, but then something starts to form in front of him. For a moment, it looks like a door, but then it shifts, morphs, and then it—then it looks like a mirror. Vaguely rectangular, hardly tangible, still cloaked by the smoke that’s been engulfing everything else. All the lies. But Peter can see himself, see the carnage all around him. He sees his split lip, his black eye, the rips and tears in his new suit.

Then Tony appears beside him in the mirror.

Tony. Tony Stark. Tony Stark, who is….who’s gone. For six months now.

Right there, in front of him.

Peter is struck, frozen, and he glances to his side and sees nothing, but when he looks straight ahead again, at the mirror, he still sees him. Tony. He’s still there. He’s got dark scarring up and down the right side of his body, his right eye is milky, and he looks down at himself, turning his hands over like he didn’t expect them to be there. He’s wearing a black shirt, sweat pants, and it’s as if he just walked out of someone’s living room. Like Peter could grab him, tug him forward, and he’d just go on with his life. It’s him, it’s _him._

But there’s fear in Tony’s eyes. Something new, something….different. 

Desperation.

Tony looks around, breathing through his mouth, and then his gaze settles on Peter. His brows are furrowed.

Peter’s eyes are burning, and he can't breathe. 

This is different. This is _different._

“Peter,” Tony says, in that all too familiar voice, that Peter can only hear on recordings now. “Peter, oh my God, I—God, I need you to help me, I don't know how this is happening, but I need—I need your help, I need—I don’t know where I am, I don’t know, I need you, bud, I need your help, please—”

There’s fire everywhere, but Peter is cold. His face contorts in pain because he’s not over it, he’ll never be over it, he’ll never, ever be over it, and his anger boils up with his sorrow.

“—I’m not dead, kid, I’m not dead, but I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how long this is gonna last, I need you, please, Pete, please, you gotta help me—”

Peter can’t stop staring at him, can’t believe Beck would stoop this low, but then he sees him. He sees Beck, in the distance. Sees the outline of that goddamn dumbass fishbowl helmet, close to the far wall, by the destroyed food carts. Peter tears his eyes away from Tony and rushes at Beck, new fire in his heart.

Not Tony. He won’t use Tony and get away with it.

~

Nick Fury, for the first time in his life, probably, is apologetic.

Peter doesn’t want to hear it. He finds out about Ned and MJ, finds out about the rest of them, makes sure that May is still safe at home. The firefighters put the fires out, and whatever Beck did to Peter is finally wearing off.

Special effects, hypnotism. Magic, chemicals. World class liar.

The others are safe, but Peter can’t get Tony’s voice out of his head. The way he looked, how he was—how he was pleading. It felt different than the others. But once Peter had beaten Beck, once he’d hit him (probably) too many times, the mirror thing was gone.

Peter walks over to Fury. “I need to talk to him,” he says, in a way that leaves no room for roadblocks.

But Fury, of course, gives him a look like he wants to put up a fight. Peter stares at him, and Fury stares back, and Peter hopes the cuts and bruises littering his face might make Fury the slightest bit sympathetic. Peter thinks he might be catching him on a round of guilt.

“Fine,” Fury says. They’re set up away from the first responders and everyone else, which is the only reason why Peter is walking around with his mask off. “He’s in black car number five over there.” Fury gestures over his shoulder. “I’ll tell the driver to roll down the window.”

Peter nods, chewing on his lower lip and starting towards it. His heart is beating in his ears, and as soon as he gets close enough to the dark car, the window slides down.

He didn’t have a lot of time with Beck, but it stings, to see him now. He thought he had a friend. Someone he could trust. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Beck has the nerve to smile at him.

“I wanna know how you were able to conjure Tony Stark,” Peter says. “Make him do….say what he said. The others I get, they’re all alive, you’ve seen them up close, but he’s—he’s—” Peter doesn’t like the word dead. He hates even thinking it. “How did you do it? It shouldn’t be that easy.”

Beck stares at him, and he’s not smiling anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Tony, Tony, how did you do it? How?” Peter’s mouth is dry, and he’s just getting angrier. 

Beck shakes his head. “I didn’t—I didn’t conjure Tony Stark.”

Peter sets his jaw, and feels unable to speak.

“With what I do, how I do it—well, I haven’t quite perfected dead people yet.” He winks. “Yet. So whatever you saw, it wasn’t me.”

~

Peter sits on the floor between the two beds in his motel room, MJ on one bed and Ned on the other.

“He could be lying,” MJ says. “He probably is lying.”

“He’s insane,” Ned says,

Peter stares off, hugging his knees to his chest.

_I need your help, I need—I don’t know where I am, I don’t know, I need you, bud, I need your help, please—_

“It felt different,” Peter says. “It felt—I don’t know. The other things, they—they had this weird feeling to them, when I—when I saw you two, it was like—my brain kept telling me it wasn’t real, and as soon as I got to you it all disappeared, like it was never there to begin with. It was like Beck was trying to—make me believe it was actually happening, but the thing with Tony, he….it was like—”

“A mirror,” MJ says. “A window.”

Peter’s throat goes a little tight. “Yeah,” he says. 

“Did you tell Mr. Happy?” Ned asks.

“Not yet,” Peter says. He doesn’t know if he should. He doesn’t know if he should put any stock into this.

_—I’m not dead, kid, I’m not dead, but I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how long this is gonna last, I need you, please, Pete, please, you gotta help me—_

But it’s Tony. Tony, whose loss has felt like a hole in Peter’s chest, an open wound that won't heal. He’s missed him so hard it doesn’t feel like pain anymore, but something else, something deeper. The world isn’t coping well without him. Peter isn’t either. He can’t imagine all his future milestones without Tony. He still stares at his contact in his phone, his thumb hovering over it. His heart aching to talk to him. 

Peter looks up. Back and forth, between the two of them. “I don’t know if he’s lying. I don’t know. He probably is, but I just—I can’t let it just sit there. I can’t—stop hearing those words, and if Mr. Stark is out there, if he’s—if something happened, and he’s trapped somewhere, I’ve gotta—I’ve gotta do something. I can’t stop looking until I’m sure.” He swallows hard. “I know it seems crazy—”

“I’m in,” Ned says. “I’ll help you, Peter.”

“Me too,” MJ says. “We know how much he means to you—”

“Yeah—”

“And weirder things have happened,” MJ says. “Like, for sure.”

“And you inherited all his tech,” Ned says, shifting towards the end of the bed. “There’s so much we can do—and _AND_ you’ve got a whole ton of really smart genius people who can help you. You know, as soon as you decide to tell them. But I’m totally on board with keeping our efforts secret for now.”

“I’ll handle the secret-keeping for all three of us,” MJ says. “You two are no good at it.”

Peter nods. He blows out a breath.

If Tony’s out there, Peter has to try. He has to try to get him back. 

He has to try to bring him home.

Whatever it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt this will happen in a million years, but I can't get it out of my head.


End file.
